Ethshar 08 - Ithanalin's Restoration

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Kilisha turned to him angrily. "They can sense magic," she retorted.

  "Can they? Well, why don't we ask that one, then? Maybe it's got a more sensitive nose." He pointed up Steep Street .

  Kilisha turned, and saw that indeed another spriggan was descending Steep Street, apparently headed directly for the enchanted chair.

  "Where'd you come from?" Kilisha said. Then a thought struck her. "Maybe it's one of the ones that was on the bench!"

  "There were spriggans on the bench?" Kelder asked.

  Kilisha had been about to run up the steps toward the spriggan, but then she thought better of it; that might scare the newcomer away. Instead she gave the rope a gentle tug.

  The chair clambered down a step so that two legs rested on Old Seagate Street and two on the bottom step of Steep Street .

  The spriggan came bounding down the steps happily, ignoring the two humans who were maneuvering into position on either side of the chair. It jumped from the steps onto the chair seat— and Kilisha jerked the rope, tipping the chair up so that it wobbled wildly on one leg.

  The spriggan slid from the polished wood and landed facedown on the hard-packed dirt. Kelder dove for it, and managed to grab one splayed foot before it could scramble away.

  The guardsman sat up on the street, the front of his tunic smeared with dirt, his tax collector's pouch twisted around to his left hip, and the spriggan dangling from his hand, squirming wildly.

  Kilisha hurried over and demanded, "Were you riding our bench?"

  "Let go let go let go let go!" the spriggan yelped, still struggling, "Answer the lady's question!" Kelder rumbled.

  The spriggan stopped wriggling and turned to look at him, then decided to cooperate. "Rode bench, yes!" it said. "Fun ride. Bouncy, fast, bouncy, and fast, then got bounced off."

  "Where'd the bench go?" Kilisha asked.

  The spriggan twisted its head to stare solemnly at her. "Don't know names," it said.

  "Point."

  The spriggan hung down from Kelder's hand and slowly turned its head back and forth, taking in the scenery.

  "World upside-down," it said. "Makes head hurt, thinking directions this way up."

  Kelder grabbed the creature around the chest with his other hand and turned it over, releasing his hold on its foot.

  "Better!" the spriggan squeaked, as it looked around again. "Came that way!" It pointed back up Steep Street . "Around corner."

  "You mean the bench was on Straight Street ?"

  "Street was straight," the spriggan said uncertainly.

  "Did it go up the street, or down?" Kilisha asked. Kelder tightened his grip warningly.

  "Up!" It was plainly relieved to be able to answer this one.

  "Good," Kelder said. He lowered his hand.

  "Don't let it —" Kilisha began, but it was too late; Kelder had released the spriggan, and it had promptly dashed away, down and across Old Seagate Street, toward the rocky shoreline.

  "—go," she finished. She sighed, then beckoned to Kelder. "Come on."

  Kelder got to his feet and looked around for the spriggan, but it had vanished from sight. He brushed off his tunic, straightened his belt, and followed Kilisha as she climbed back up Steep Street, tugging the chair behind her.

  Ten minutes later they had crossed Fortress Street and the dry moat and neared the top of Straight Street; the huge red doors of the Fortress loomed before them, tightly shut, a spear-wielding guardsman to either side. The chair seemed reluctant to go anywhere near these two men, and hung back at the end of its rope.

  There was no bench in sight.

  The soldiers were looking at them with interest; Kilisha supposed they were wondering what a tax collector and fellow guardsman was doing here, and how he had managed to get his clothes so dirty.

  And, she supposed, they could see the chair. People out walking a chair on a leash were not a common sight in Ethshar of the Rocks.

  "Hai!" she called. "Have you seen an animated bench running loose? Seats two, with a humped back?"

  "That way," the right-hand guard replied, pointing north with his spear. "We wouldn't let it too close to the door here—you understand, in case it had some sort of dangerous spell on it, an explosive rune or something. We had to chase it away three or four times before it gave up."

  "Did it have any spriggans on it?" Kilisha asked. If it had still had one or more to dislodge that might help locate it.

  The guards exchanged glances. "I didn't see any," the left-hand guard replied.

  "Excuse me for asking," the right-hand guard said, "but what's going on? I expect our captain will want a proper report, what with all this fuss about the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands. Did she send this bench?"

  "No," Kilisha said. "Nobody sent it. An animation spell went wrong, and it ran away from home. It's harmless, so far as we know."

  "It seemed to want to get into the Fortress."

  Kilisha turned up an empty palm. "I don't know why," she said. "It can't talk, so we don't know much about its thinking. We don't know why it ran away in the first place, let alone why it came here."

  "Fun!" the spriggan on her shoulder suddenly piped. Kilisha resisted the temptation to punch it.

  "Well, it did seem to want to get in, so maybe it went to try the other door," the left-hand guard suggested.

  "Thank you," Kilisha said with a curtsy. "We'll try there."

  "Is that chair... I mean… " The left-hand guard pointed down the street, along the rope.

  "That's from the same ruined spell," Kilisha said.

  "Should we know who you are?" the right-hand guard asked, looking at Kelder.

  "Kelder Goran's son of Sixth Company, on tax duty," Kelder replied. "I was the one who interrupted the animation spell, and I can't collect the wizard's taxes until it's fixed."

  Kilisha doubted this was true—Yara could probably pay the taxes-—but didn't say anything to contradict it.

  "Which wizard?" the guard asked.

  "Ithanalin the Wise," Kilisha said. "I'm his apprentice."

  "Ah." The soldier straightened up, raising his spear into position. "Well, good luck, then."

  A sudden thought struck Kilisha. "If the bench did get inside— well, maybe we should look in the Fortress."

  "It didn't get inside," the guard said. "Nobody gets inside today without special permission, because of the usurper."

  "Oh," Kilisha said. "Then we'll check at the other door. Thank you!" She curtsied again, then turned away.

  They made their way back out across the bridge over the moat and turned left onto Fortress Street, toward the north door.

  As they walked Kilisha looked first to the left, where massive jagged revetments rose up from the moat guarding the Fortress grounds, then to the right, where the mansions of the older noble families stood. The contrast was not as striking as one might have expected; these old homes were themselves forbidding structures of blackened stone, nothing like the glittering palaces the wealthy merchants and newcomers to the overlord's court had built themselves over in Highside.

  She could see no openings in the mansion facades, no alleyways where the bench might have concealed itself—but on the other side, might it have fallen down into the moat? If it had been turned away at the north door and had still wanted to get into the Fortress, crossing the moat and finding an opening was the only other possible route. She crossed to the left side, paying out more line so that the chair could continue down the center of the street; when she reached the curb she paused to lean over the iron railing and peer down into the ditch.

  The bottom of the moat was lined with a thin layer of black mud and debris, and she could see a few discarded odds and ends— a woman's hair clip, a wooden doll's crudely carved arm, a boot with the sole torn away. There was no bench in sight, nor did she think there was anywhere one might hide.

  "What are you doing?" Kelder asked, stopping a few feet away while the chair wandered aimlessly about the street, the rope swinging back and forth a
s it moved.

  Kilisha looked up from the moat to answer Kelder's question, and suddenly there it was, just around the curve of the street, clearly visible through the railing—the bench!

  There were no spriggans clinging to it; it had apparently finally managed to dislodge them all. It did not seem to be in any great hurry; instead of the headlong dash she had seen before it was ambling along Fortress Street at no great speed, just inside the railing, heading directly toward them.

  "There it is," she hissed to Kelder.

  "I see it," he hissed back, crouching.

  "Bench!" Sprigganalin shrieked.

  "Augh!" Kilisha said, her left hand flying up and stopping just short of grabbing the spriggan by the throat. "Shut up!"

  The bench had stopped dead at the sound of the spriggan's voice; it seemed to be wary, but it wasn't fleeing.

  Yet.

  "Circle around," Kilisha whispered to Kelder. "Get behind it."

  "Right," he said, veering sideways across Fortress Street, while Kilisha stayed close to the railing.

  The bench turned, keeping its front toward Kelder. "I think it recognizes him," Kilisha whispered to the spriggan.

  "You bet!" the spriggan said cheerfully—and loudly. The bench abruptly swung back to face Kilisha.

  It didn't like spriggans, Kilisha thought. That was why it had gone charging off, trying to dislodge them. If the spriggan kept talking the bench might run away again, frightened off by the sound of its voice.

  For the present, though, its attention was focused on her and the spriggan, and Kelder was circling around it. He was on the far side of the street, creeping along the front of an ancient stone mansion, his eyes fixed on the bench.

  "Do you think it sees us?" Kilisha asked the spriggan.

  She knew perfectly well that the bench knew where they were—though "see" might be the wrong word, since it had no eyes. Just how animated objects perceived their surroundings was a mystery even to the wizards who created them; when customers asked, the universal reply was simply, "It's magic." She was just hoping to keep the furniture confused, unsure whether to flee, by asking foolish questions.

  Kelder was now safely north of the bench, moving away from the facade toward the center of the street; if the bench tried to run he should be able to grab it. Kilisha slid her hand along the iron rail and took a step forward, around the curve to where she could look at the bench without the railing between them.

  "Why, hello there, bench!" she said. "Do you remember me? You used to stand in the parlor of my master's house."

  The bench took a step back. Kelder moved across the street behind it, getting ready to lunge. Kilisha slid farther along the railing.

  The bench backed away another longer, faster step, then started to run—but Kelder was coming up behind it, so it changed direction quickly, trying to double back south, past Kilisha.

  That was exactly what Kilisha had hoped for. She ran northward past the bench, then cut east, across the street.

  And the bench ran into the rope strung between Kilisha's hand and the chair.

  The impact was enough to jerk Kilisha's hand painfully, and the chair toppled over completely and lay thrashing in the dirt.

  Kilisha wasted no time in racing around behind the bench, encircling it in the rope, before it could step over the rope or slide under it. The chair was dragged up against the bench, entangling the two pieces so that neither could move freely, and allowing Kilisha to spiral in, wrapping the rope around them both and tying them together.

  "There," she said, satisfied with her performance. She called to Kelder, "Now, sir, could you give me a hand?"

  A few minutes later the bench was tied securely to one end of the rope, the chair to the other, and Kilisha held the center in both hands, leading the reluctant furniture back down the hillside toward Wizard Street .

  Sometimes the two pieces cooperated, and sometimes they didn't; holding them was often a struggle, and more than once Kilisha had to call for Kelder's help in holding onto the rope. She almost wished she had used the Spell of Optimum Strength. By the time they got safely back to Ithanalin's shop they were exhausted—but more of the furniture was back where it belonged, and Kilisha was pleased.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kilisha did not trust the bench and chair; they had put up too much of a fight. The chair seemed glad to be home, running around the parlor like a puppy rediscovering familiar surroundings, but all the same, Kilisha made sure the door was closed and locked before she let go of the rope for even an instant.

  And she didn't untie cither piece at first; instead she looped the rope around the door latch and left Kelder to guard it while she went to make more permanent arrangements. The line holding the coat-rack was tied to a lamp bracket, but somehow Kilisha doubted that would be strong enough to hold the bench; she wanted to find something that would be.

  Yara had heard the noise of her return, and the thumping and rattling as the bench and chair moved around the parlor; she met Kilisha in the workshop, worried by the racket but eager to know what was happening.

  "I got them, Mistress," Kilisha explained, pointing. "Kelder had them locked up, and I stupidly let them out, but we followed them and caught them again. Now we need to tie them up so they won't get away again, but I'm not sure how to do it."

  "Them?" Yara peered past her into the parlor.

  Kelder waved cheerily at her, and Yara retreated slightly.

  "The chair and the bench," Kilisha explained. "We still need to find the couch. And right now I'm trying to think what we can tie these two to. I don't want them in the workshop; they might break things or spill something."

  "I don't want them in the kitchen, either, or anywhere upstairs," Yara agreed. "They belong in the parlor."

  "But there's nothing solid to tie them to in the parlor!"

  "Oh." Yara considered for a moment, then turned up a palm. "I'm sure you'll think of something. I'd best go tell the children what's happening."

  "Yes, Mistress," Kilisha said, suppressing a sigh. She looked around the workshop, but inspiration failed to strike.

  From the doorway, Kelder said, "I overheard. Really, they should be secured to the house itself, if there's any way to do that."

  "I don't see any way," Kilisha said. "Not in the parlor."

  Kelder turned and gazed critically about, then suggested, "You could run a rope out the door and back in a window, then tie the furniture to both ends, making a loop. That would hold them."

  "But then we couldn't close the door or the window," Kilisha said, stepping up to him and pointing.

  Kelder, startled, looked at the front door and realized she was right.

  "The barracks doors generally don't fit their frames that well," he said apologetically. "There's room enough for a rope underneath most of them."

  "The barracks isn't the home of a respectable wizard," Kilisha retorted.

  "This time of year, you could leave the door open—"

  "No," Kilisha said instantly. Keeping the captured pieces in the house was quite enough to worry about with the door securely closed.

  "Well, then, I don't know."

  "I'll think of something," Kilisha said. "Can you stay for a little while longer, and help out? We still need to secure these, and find the couch."

  "A little while," Kelder agreed. "Not all afternoon."

  "The afternoon's already half gone," Kilisha said.

  "Well, I can't stay for the entire other half! I do have my duties, you know—including collecting the tax on this house."

  "I told you earlier, I don't have anything to do with that," Kilisha said. "You'll have to talk to Yara."

  "Then I'll need to talk to Yara. Maybe I can do that while you find the missing couch."

  "I don't.. ." Kilisha began, intending to say she didn't know how to find the couch, but then she remembered her earlier plan— levitating up above the city and looking for it from the air.

  This was clearly a good time for that, while the
daylight was still bright and the shadows not yet too long or deep. She could float up and look down at the streets and chimney tops…

  And a sudden inspiration struck her.

  "You talk to Yara," she said. "Hold onto that rope, don't let the furniture escape. There's something I need to do. It should only take a few minutes."

  "What?"

  "I've figured out how to tie them to the house, and maybe I can find the couch at the same time. You hold them and talk to Yara. It shouldn't take more than half an hour, at most."

  "Well. . ."

  "Thank you!"

  With that, without giving Kelder any more time to protest, she dashed through the workshop to the kitchen, and on through to the scullery at the back of the house.

  There was another coil of rope, as she had remembered, hanging by the door there; she snatched it up, then looked around.

  Yes, the big axe was still there. Kilisha had never seen Ithanalin use it; just once she had seen Yara whack off a pig's head with it, when the household was expecting an important dinner guest and wanted the freshest possible meat, and Yara had been sufficiently distressed with the resulting mess that she had announced she would never do it again. Usually the axe simply sat unused in the corner, gathering cobwebs.

  It should do perfectly. Kilisha picked it up, then almost dropped it again upon discovering how heavy it was. She hefted it up onto a stone bench, then tied one end of her new rope securely around the axe handle.

  Now it was time to levitate.

  She hesitated. Which spell should she use?

  Tracel's Levitation required a rooster's toe, a vial containing a raindrop caught in midair, her athame, and a few minutes of ritual. It would allow her to rise straight up to whatever height she chose—but it would provide no horizontal movement unless she allowed herself to drift on the breeze. A single word would then lower her gently back to earth.

  Varen's Levitation called for a silver coin, a seagull's feather, a lantern, and again, her athame and a few minutes of chanting and gestures. It would let her walk up an invisible staircase in the air, then walk on air, and then descend again—but only once each. She could not ascend, then go level, then ascend again.